The Scarf
by jakela
Summary: A red scarf forces John to confront his feelings for Joss through a series of dreams.
1. Chapter 1: Hell Freezes Over

The Scarf

Chapter 1: Hell Freezes Over

They were checking out an abandoned warehouse, when he noticed it. The scarf was beautiful, dark red shot through with gold. It swirled around her neck at least twice, secured by a loose knot at the base of her throat, the ends teasing the swell of her breasts.

It highlighted her hair and skin perfectly.

Reese wanted to touch it.

He wanted to touch her.

Joss frowned, following his gaze, "What?" she asked.

"The scarf – it's nice."

She stopped walking, folding her arms, her voice a combination of resignation and amusement, "Go ahead."

"I don't know what you mean, Detective."

"Make some smartass remark about my new scarf, get it out of your system."

"Carter, I just made a comment," he shrugged, "I don't have anything else to say."

"No?" she expertly imitated his flirty whisper, _"Got a date tonight, Carter?" "You shouldn't have worn that just for me, Carter." "Wanted to tie something up today, Carter?"_

Did he really sound that bad? "If I _were_ going to say something, Carter," he stepped forward, towering over her, "it would be much better than that."

He was so close that an errant breeze from the warehouse's bank of broken windows wafted the ends of the scarf just inches from his chest. Their eyes met for a long moment, neither one saying anything.

Finally Joss stepped back, "No snark from John Reese? Hell has officially frozen over."

A bullet flew past her head. Hell hadn't frozen over, but it certainly had broken loose.

Hours later, her sharp white teeth tore several strips off the scarf and she bound his cut, bleeding palms.

"Joss –"

"You need to be able to lift that construction plate so we can get out of here," she said. "Besides" she smirked, "this is a knockoff – if we survive, you can buy me the real thing."

She turned her head at a sudden noise, not noticing that he'd slipped the rest of the scarf into his pocket.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2: Dream Lover

Chapter 2: Dream Lover

Later that night at his apartment, Reese collapsed on his bed. When he'd undressed, he'd tossed the scarf on his pillow, where it glinted against the dark blue linens. He picked it up, inhaling her scent, aroused and repelled by his actions. Once he'd had a target who was a fetishist, turned on by women's shoes. The man gave up state secrets just to be able to smell some Jimmy Choos. Reese wasn't sure he was too far behind him.

Undone by a scarf – he really was losing it. As Reese drifted off to sleep, he reminded himself to return the scarf to her tomorrow.

_Joss walked down a long alleyway towards him in a black trench coat and high heels, the scarf around her neck. Heedless of any passerby, slowly she unbuttoned her coat, revealing her naked body. She untied the scarf, trailing it over her breasts, stomach and thighs and then drew it against her sex. Pressing the scarf to his face, she let him feel and smell her wetness, while her other hand undid his pants. Freeing him, she rubbed the scarf against his cock, pulling it slowly over the head._

Dimly he felt the scarf against his hardness, mimicking her touch in the dream.

_She looped the scarf around his neck, pulling their bodies together. "Still think that this scarf is 'nice'?" she taunted. Cursing, he slammed her against the alleyway wall, her cries of pleasure sharp and raw as he pounded into her. _

He came so hard, it hurt.

In the morning, he rinsed the scarf out, draping it over the headboard to dry.

He'd return the scarf to her tomorrow.

He didn't.

Every night he told himself that he'd return the scarf to her the next day. And every night he had a different dream.

_On her desk at the precinct, his head between her taut thighs…against the shelves in the library, books tumbling into the aisle…in the backseat of her car, finally letting her put handcuffs on him…astride the Ducati, along a deserted country lane…on a roof while they were installing surveillance cameras…hiding under a pier, cold water swirling around his ankles…in a closet while she was on security detail, her thigh holster rubbing against his waist…_

Every night she had the scarf on, around her neck, wrist or in her hair as part of the dream. And every night he used the scarf to bring his release.

He couldn't face her.

He gave all the requests for police assistance to Fusco, even though he knew it would take longer. Taylor agreed to meet him at the firing range for their regular shooting and self-defense sessions, so that he wouldn't have to go to her apartment. He texted Carter once a day, but the messages were brief and perfunctory. She texted him, once, twice, three times asking if he was okay, but he never responded.

He shredded and burned the scarf.

Yet three weeks later, the dreams continued, the scarf now morphing in shape and size.

_A strapless top, his mouth teasing her tight dark buds through the fabric…a low slung skirt, his fingers making their own rhythm between her thighs as they danced at a smoky jazz club…a hammock they fell out of, laughing as their naked bodies rolled onto the soft green grass…_

He became distracted, missing an essential clue with the latest number – at the last minute they were able to foil the killer, but the intended victim got a nasty cut and a broken arm in the process.

Finch's silence said more than any spoken condemnation would have done. Finally he sighed, "You need to resolve whatever's bothering you, Mr. Reese. Take a few days off. I'll only call you if it's an emergency."

The next morning Reese took the Ducati and rode out of the city. Finch had numerous properties scattered around the tri-state area, including an old farm formerly belonging to two eccentric brothers who'd developed several lucrative technologies under Finch's patronage. The brothers had apparently never thrown anything out from the day they were born, so Finch, fearful that some random notebook or piece of equipment might connect their work to him, had bought the 40 acre property as is, much to the relief of the dead men's distant relatives.

Finch and Reese had discussed establishing an additional, separate area for their work. The farm might fit the bill.

Reese entered the code that opened the gate to the massive 20 foot high fence that enclosed the property. He wheeled the Ducati in, then closed and locked the gate behind him.

The front yard seemed to be littered with an example of every car ever manufactured in the US. He passed rusted running boards and tailfins battling for supremacy as he wended his way to the farm house.

The bones of the late brothers' home were good – two stories, a wraparound porch, at least two fireplaces and a widow's walk gracing the roof. There were several outbuildings including a brick structure that was the focus of today's visit. The brothers' had installed massive batteries to keep their property off the grid and to supply power for their experiments. Reese's task today was to clear out the junk and debris that cluttered the building and ascertain if the batteries were still operable.

Mindless, nasty, potentially dangerous – just what he needed.

As he worked, he focused his thoughts on his relationship with Joss. He'd always known that he was drawn to her, but this, this driving, desperate, and frankly dangerous need had broken apart the carefully constructed conceit he had built about his feelings for her.

She was an asset, an adversary, a sometime colleague.

She was a friend, his talisman and the love of his life.

Late that afternoon, he called Finch.

"Were you able to exorcise your demons, Mr. Reese?"

"I'd be gone for a long time if I tried to do that, Finch…I need one more day, and then I'll be back." He paused, "I also need you to do something, Harold – a favor - for me."

An hour later Finch called back with a time and an address. John thanked him, made another call and headed back into the city.

_He led her out onto the widow's walk. Joss clung to his arm, laughing. "I can't believe you got me up here like this."_

"_It will be worth it, I promise." The scarf covered her eyes. He untied it, watching it float away into the red and gold of an autumn afternoon. _

_He kissed her._

"_I see," she said. _

_And she kissed him back._

He slept through the entire night.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3: The Thrill of a Phill

Chapter 3: The Thrill of a Phill

Designer Robert Phill got these calls more often than you might expect. A highly respected designer of couture accessories for men and women, Phill had become a household name several years ago when his son brokered a landmark deal with a mass market retailer. 'The Thrill of a Phill' line had exploded worldwide, lauded for its aesthetics as well as its affordability. Semi-retired now, Phill maintained a private couture studio by appointment only, tucked away on a quiet row of stately brownstones.

"Of course," the designer replied to the request. He called his faithful assistant Clotilde, asking her to meet him at the studio a little before 6 AM the next day.

Phill mused about this morning's client. Usually it was some corporate titan's staffer panicking about a forgotten gift, occasionally an errant husband or partner hoping to erase a mistake or indiscretion, and once a suspected bigamist who purchased every item in two colors, sending them to two addresses barely five miles apart. Today, all he had was a first name and the time of his arrival.

The young man – well, young to him anyway – entered the salon precisely at 6 AM. Clotilde touched his hand, then went to the office in the back.

Former military, Phill thought, noting the way his startling gray eyes swept the room, taking in every detail. Phill was struck by his quiet grace - unlike most men who entered his salon, he wasn't nervous or belligerently masculine. The designer knew instinctively that this was a man who wouldn't be taken in by the fanciful tales he usually romanced his clients with, "Normally I'd tell you a tale of windswept hills, wild beasts and long sea voyages, but I don't think you'd be impressed."

"Especially when the hills were strip mined ten years ago, the wild beasts are on a ranch in Montana and the commercial freighters have stopped using those shipping lanes due to Somali pirates," the young man replied.

The designer nodded, "How can I help you?"

"I'd like to purchase one of your scarves for someone – a woman."

"Ah, perhaps you have a tale for me. Tell me about this woman."

"She's smart, brave, beautiful, honest and loyal. A fantastic mother and an excellent colleague." He paused, and with the freedom of confessing to someone you'd never see again, added, "She knows what I am and what I've done, and she's still there."

"You're not worthy of her," Phill's words were sharp, but his voice was soft.

"No," the young man smiled, the designer sensed, for the first time in days, "but I want her anyway."

"And is this woman interested in you?"

"I piss her off several times a day."

"Then she is interested. And the scarf is for…"

"I was the cause of the destruction of one of your, she called it a 'knockoff', scarves."

Phill sighed dramatically, "You expose me as a teller of false tales and a sellout to commercialism. Let me try to redeem myself by showing you my true wares."

He slid open a drawer. The scarves glowed as if they were lit from within against the dark wood. Gold, forest green, royal blue and deep purple, they ranged the spectrum from pale ivory to rich, velvety black. There were twelve in all.

"May I," the young man asked. The designer nodded.

The young man picked up the dark red scarf. "It's exquisite."

Phill nodded, "As you can see and feel, the 'knockoff' version bears absolutely no resemblance whatsoever to the real thing."

The young man smiled again, "Indeed."

"The red suits her?"

"Yes, but I don't think there's a color she doesn't look good in...I'll take them all."

Phill called for Clotilde to complete the transaction and place the scarves into one of his signature leather and silk hinged boxes.

He shook the young man's hand. "Come back whenever you wish. Bring her with you," knowing he'd never would.

"You're assuming that I'll be successful."

"If you aren't, she's not the woman you described."

"Now you've exposed yourself as a hopeless romantic." He slipped the box under his arm. "Thanks."

The designer watched the young man walk out into the early morning sunlight. He turned to Clothilde, taking her hand in his. Fifty years ago, blinded by pride and misunderstandings, they'd married other people. After their spouses passed away, they slowly came together. He cherished every day.

"Come," she said, "I've made tea."

"Yes, that was exhilarating and exhausting."

"Love always is, my darling."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4: I See

Chapter 4: I See

Carter was waiting for him on the bench by the river. In his dreams about her it was always during the warmth and crispness of autumn, when in reality weeks had passed and it was just a few days before Christmas. The starkness of the setting contrasted sharply with the beautiful woman before him. Her face lit up briefly as he approached, then settled in a smooth neutral mask, body still except for her right thumb and forefinger gently twisting the hem of her gray pea coat.

Reese sat down next to her. "I appreciate you agreeing to meet me, Joss."

"I can't stay long – we have family coming in and I'm taking the rest of the week off." She took a deep breath, "I just wanted to make sure that you were okay, that we're," her dark brown eyes searched his face, "okay."

"We are," he said.

She looked away for a moment and he realized how much he had hurt her. Tilting her head, she asked with a soft smile, "Are you going to tell me why you've been avoiding me for weeks or is this going to be another one of those things you just can't talk about?"

"I'm sorry, Joss." It was an apology and an acknowledgement of so many things that he'd never be able to tell her. "You said if we survived…," he handed her the box.

Joss' eyes widened when she saw the embossed crest. "You knew I was joking, right? You didn't have to do this." Her hands trembled slightly as she opened the lid. If the scarves had glowed in Phill's studio, they became incandescent in the sunlight, pulsating with fire and energy. "John…they're incredible, but I-"

He pulled out the dark red scarf. Longer than the scarf Joss had purchased, it unfurled in the breeze, slowly caressing her hair and face, tracing the curve of her throat and then cascading down her body. Gasping, she closed her eyes, "John, I –"

"Try it on, Joss. Please." His voice was low and hoarse.

She nodded jerkily, then opened her eyes, which had become darker, almost black and luminous, "Only if you put it on for me."

He closed the lid on the box and slipped it under the bench. Slowly he unbuttoned the collar of her stark white oxford shirt. She lifted her ponytail. He swirled the scarf around her neck three times, secured it in a loose knot at the base of her throat, let the ends tease the swell of her breasts. Cupping her face in his hands, he kissed her softly.

"You can do better than that," she whispered.

He did.

"I see," she said.

And she kissed him back.

Foreheads touching, they sat there for a moment and then Joss murmured, "I have to go. I'll call you once the coast clears and I mean that literally – it's the West Coast contingent that's visiting this week."

They stood up. Reese reached down and handed her the box. She took a few steps and then turned back, hugging him fiercely, "Merry Christmas, John."

He watched her run up the embankment, the scarf beckoning to him in the early morning wind.

TBC

A/N: One more to go. Originally I had written a short chapter, but then I realized that John has come far in this story (albeit in his own one step forward, two steps _sideways_, then two steps back way) and he deserves a long sexy romantic evening with Joss, so that will come next.


	5. Chapter 5: Dream Come True

Chapter 5: Dream Come True

Reese spent the next two days pretending to eat burnt pot roast and soggy vegetables. Posing as a long lost relative from Omaha, he discovered that two venomous sisters were scheming to dispatch their future sister-in-law. Convinced she was a gold-digger, they planned to poison her before their 72 year old baby brother could announce his engagement to the rest of the family on Christmas Eve.

Since the young woman _was_ a gold-digger and was also hedging her bets by carrying on with another elderly gentleman, it was easy for Finch to manipulate their respective financials. Believing she was marrying the wealthier man, the young woman eloped with 'Plan B' a few hours before the sisters were able to carry out their plot.

As Reese slipped away from the aborted celebration, the bottle of poison safely in his pocket, he saw the dejected brother being comforted by the woman the sisters preferred he marry.

"They didn't have to poison her, Finch," Reese said as they shared a quiet drink in the library early that evening. "She would have been dead of starvation or a blocked intestine by New Year's."

"And the next potential Mrs. Wells?," Finch asked.

"Has been eating dinner there every Sunday for the last 20 years," Reese said as he put on his overcoat.

"Presumably she has an iron constitution that should serve her well, especially if she ever loses the sisters' favor." Harold gave one of his rare smiles. "Have a good evening, John."

"You too, Harold."

During the time he was in the library, a light dusting of snow cast a quiet spell over the city. Reese had not spoken to or seen Joss since that morning along the river - he needed to see her, if only for a moment. Moving quickly, he reached the church just as Joss' family approached the front steps. He saw Taylor first, carefully escorting a dignified matriarch, her left arm linked in his. Joss was a few feet behind them, holding hands with two plump identically dressed toddlers. She looked happy and relaxed, her laughter carrying across the street to where he stood, partially concealed by a van.

The sounds of the holiday concert were beginning in earnest and he watched as Joss cajoled the toddlers up the steep steps. He imagined her on Christmas morning, first saying a silent prayer for her late husband, then quickly rousting her sleepy teen out of bed and off to a whirlwind of family and friends.

She'd stop by Fusco's for a moment, keeping the car running, so he wouldn't feel obligated to invite her into his wreck of an apartment. A last bag of toys would go to the local precinct for the annual holiday drive. They'd pick up a few elderly guests, carefully loading their contributions to the feast in the trunk. Finally they'd reach her mother's house, full to bursting with people and food.

Taylor would stoically accept the hugs and kisses of all the women there, secretly thrilled at the attention. Joss would speak with every person, sample every dish, ooh and aah over every photo. She'd easily deflect a married man who'd clumsily try to kiss her in the pantry, both pretending that his lapse was just a stumble over a case of bottled water. Arms up to her elbows in suds she'd hand wash her grandmother's china, biting her tongue when her mother recounted for the millionth time her embarrassing junior prom date.

She'd drive the elderly guests home, at first refusing, then finally accepting a few crumpled bills for gas, when she saw how important it was to them. Taylor would remind her about the after Christmas sales – she'd give him her patented glare, then surprise him with what he wanted that evening at their apartment. Her eyes would mist over when she saw the little boy and the man he would grow to be in his eyes as he hugged her.

Lastly she'd open the box of scarves, run her fingers through the luxurious fabrics, hold them against her face in front of the dresser mirror. Before she went to bed, she'd carefully put them all back, giving the red scarf the place of honor in the center.

As she stepped into the church, Reese hoped that she pause for a moment, sensing his presence, but of course she didn't. Whispering, "Merry Christmas, Joss," he slipped away into the shadows.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I brought you Christmas dinner." John took a large tote bag from Joss' arms and ushered her into his apartment. She had on a leopard spotted Santa Claus hat which clashed wonderfully with her black velvet evening coat and sleek stilettos. Tilting her head, her eyes travelled from his mussed hair to his bare feet. "Lost your dry cleaning tag?"

Reese had spent Christmas day alone, indulging himself by not shaving and lounging around in an old t-shirt and drawstring pants. "Everyone has an off day, Joss."

She watched him wrestle the contents of the tote into his refrigerator. "I bet that when Batman relaxes it's in a smoking jacket and slippers."

"Batman has Alfred to pick up his dry cleaning." Crossing the room, he stood close to her. "I thought you were spending Christmas week with your family."

"This was the third day of togetherness and after my cousin Gabriel's twins threw up – for the second time – everyone agreed that we all needed a break. We'll get back together tomorrow afternoon. Taylor's at his friend Jake's house, my mom's having an all-night gossip fest with my aunts and I decided to visit you." Her voice softened. "I didn't get you anything for Christmas."

He straightened her hat. "So besides enough food for a month and this stylish chapeau, you brought me something else?"

Her eyes were as dark and luminous as they were that morning by the river. "Me."

The world stopped. There was no Machine, no numbers, no reclusive genius or bad cop trying to redeem himself. No demons, no lost loves, no regrets. He didn't have to ask her if she was sure or tell her that he couldn't remember the last time he'd been with someone. There was just her, and he realized as he pulled that ridiculous hat off her head, letting it drop on the floor, that on this winter night, she'd also brought him peace.

Joss started unbuttoning her coat, but he caught her hands, pulling them away. "It's bad form to unwrap someone else's gift, Joss. If you're my Christmas gift, I get to unwrap you, and," he grinned, "I'm going to take my time."

She raised her eyebrows, then slowly lowered her arms, giving him a slow answering grin that made him want to take her right then and there.

_Not yet, not yet._

He ran his fingers over her sleek up do, pulling out the combs, listening to them clatter as they bounced across the room. Her hair smelled like cinnamon and chocolate as he splayed it across her shoulders. Instead of her usual silver hoops, she wore long gold earrings. He took them off, suspecting by their weight that she had sacrificed comfort for style. Her throaty sigh as he caressed her earlobes confirmed that he was right.

_Not yet, not yet._

Her evening coat had just one big button at the collar. As he opened her coat, he saw it.

The red scarf was tied in a bow around her waist.

Taking a deep breath, he ran his fingers down her arms to the hem of her sleeves. Slowly he tugged the coat off, letting it pool at her feet. She had on a simple black silk sleeveless wrap dress that showed off her curves perfectly without flaunting them.

Their eyes met and she raised her arms slightly away from her body.

As he pulled the scarf free, her dress fell open, revealing a sheer red bra and panties, her beautiful dark brown nipples making a bid for his attention that his mouth and hands ached to fulfill. He slipped the dress off, opened the front clasp of her bra. Pulling it free by the slender straps, she gasped as the fabric ghosted across her hard peaks, arching her body towards his.

_God, not yet. _

Kneeling, he hooked his fingers around the waistband of her panties, gently drawing them down her legs. As she stepped out of them, her scent wafted from her sex. Almost succumbing, he wrapped his arms around her thighs, pressing his cheek against her tight curls. She ran her fingers through his hair. With a deep growl, he released her, lifted her feet one at a time and removed her shoes.

He ran his fingers slowly up her legs and arms as he stood up. Cupping her face in his hands he kissed her hair, her earlobes and her eyelids. Finally he pulled her into his arms and he kissed her lips, kissed her thoroughly and deeply, kissed her if not with a promise, at least with a hope.

When they drew apart, her eyes were full of tears. Touching his cheek, she nodded. He swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. Throwing off his clothes, he lay down next to her, their limbs and tongues intertwining. As their bodies drew together, he gave her breasts the attention they deserved, worshiping them with his lips and tongue while she writhed beneath him.

He drank the elixir between her thighs and only after she cried out, once, twice, three times, he entered her.

_Yes, yes, now._

Go slow, he thought, wanting to make this last, but her hips were undulating against him and she felt so good that he began thrusting faster and faster inside her. As she throbbed around his cock, pulling him in deeper and deeper still, he exploded, shuddering from head to foot, his hands convulsively clutching her hips.

He tried to roll on his back, afraid of crushing her, but she wrapped her arms and legs around him, pulling him close, and they lay that way for a long while the next day began.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX 

"Did you try the macaroni and cheese? It's fantastic." The kitchen counter was littered with a random selection of food – ham, turkey, stuffing, salad, baked beans, sweet potatoes, cheesecake - from the containers crowding Reese's refrigerator.

"You ate it all, Joss."

"I did?" Clad only in one of his white shirts, the red scarf pulling her hair back in a ponytail, she peered into the refrigerator. "What about the mince pie?"

"You ate that, too."

She opened another container. "There's fruitcake."

"The MRE* of holiday foods? I'll pass."

She grinned. "When the world ends, the only survivors will be cockroaches, Cher and fruitcake."

He watched her as she rooted around in the refrigerator, opening and tossing the contents of a few containers out – apparently she _had_ sampled every dish at her mother's. Pulling out two more beers, she shut the refrigerator door with her hip. She placed the beers on the counter and as she reached for the bottle opener, she saw the way he was looking at her. Coming around the counter, she stood in front of him, meeting his gaze.

Reese leaned back on the couch. He slowly spread his legs, his erection tenting sharply against his thin drawstring pants. In the dark early hours of the new day, half naked, with two days growth of beard and his desire clearly evident, he knew he looked dangerous, predatory, _primal_. He wanted her to see it, wanted her to see how much he wanted her.

Joss slowly unbuttoned his white shirt, her eyes dark, searing into his. She knelt next to him on the couch, taking his face in her hands. Slowly and deliberately she drew his face against her right nipple, rubbing against his hard stubble, hissing as it bruised her soft skin. He sucked her nipple and she gasped at the twin sensations of pain, followed by pleasure. She did the same thing with her left nipple, watching him as he suckled it. He moaned aloud at the thought of her sitting in some sedate family function that afternoon, shutting her eyes for a moment as her breasts first prickled, then tingled with the memory.

Wanting to mark her even more, he closed his teeth against her right nipple, tugging on it and worrying it, while his tongue danced against the tip. He did the same with the left nipple and then he bit it, hard. She shouted his name, her hips twisting uncontrollably as he held her.

She traced his mouth with her hand, parting his lips, but before he could claim her fingers, she kissed him, drawing his tongue out slowly with her teeth. Her lips trailed down his body and she slid off the couch kneeling in front of him. He raised his hips and she pulled his pants off. Firmly grasping his cock in her hands, she brought her lips around the straining head. He untied the red scarf, watching her hair spill over his thighs, and as her hair, mouth and hands enveloped his cock, licking, sucking, biting, gripping and swirling around him, he almost sobbed at how good it felt.

"Joss…," he finally was able to form a coherent word, letting her know he was close. She straddled him, taking him into her heat. He was frenzied now, raining kisses over her face and neck, while he pounded into her body. He wanted to possess her, wanted every man she met to know that she was taken, that she was completely, deeply and utterly fucked on a regular basis, wanted her nipples to harden at the sound of his voice, wanted her to come when he spoke a single word, softly, late at night over the phone when he couldn't lie beside her.

She took his face in her hands again and he kept his eyes open as he came.

Dazed, they stumbled to the bed. Reese pulled Joss into his arms and she curled around him. He watched her sleep as the sun rose.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXX

In the end, Joss didn't keep them all. She couldn't walk around the precinct in a series of designer scarves, without someone eventually asking questions.

Ten were donated anonymously to St. Sebastian's soup kitchen where they were the highlight of their spring auction.

One went to her mother, an extra special gift for a milestone birthday.

But she kept the red scarf, wearing it often and sometimes she'd purposely leave it at Reese's apartment, as a promise that she would return.

*MRE – Meal Ready to Eat, rations for the US military. As an example, they can last up to 5 years at 50 degrees F/10 degrees C.


End file.
